My Manderley
by shazbat
Summary: Maxim revisits Manderley and all the memories, both the good and the bad, that that entales. one shot.


My Manderley

I trudged wearily through the ashes, my face and hands covered in a thick layer of soot. However, I did not see ashes and cinders before me. Instead I saw the faces of people I had met and the places that I had wandered, all within the halls of Manderley. Scattered pockets of memory hidden within a wasteland of burnt furnishings and walls, my Manderley. Little bits of the past flashed before my mind's eye; my wedding to Rebecca, a Manderley ball, lunch with Bee, that last meeting with Rebecca… some consequential, and some otherwise. My mind hopped from one point in time to another to escape the devastation of my Manderley.

I walked over to where the library had once been. Nothing but the bare frame remained. Jasper's cushion lay in the corner. The fringe charred from the heat. I wondered if the dog had made it out. Perhaps he was with Frank. The remnants of the terrace stood bleak and black, and my soul cried out with the same sentiments. All was ravished and destroyed around me, my Manderley. The beauty that had so captivated the public had been reduced to a charred and distorted skeleton, my Manderley.

My family had lived and died within Manderley for countless generations. Their elaborate portraits had once adorned the walls. As I entered the minstrel's gallery**, **I noticed that not all the likenesses had been completely lost to the blaze. Before me, still hung upon the wall, was the painting of Caroline de Winter. Although the face had been burned away, the rest of the image was still intact. "Of course," I thought to myself. The cruel irony was astounding. I chuckled bitterly, the games that fate does play. More memories assaulted me; Rebecca floating down the stairs in the replica of Caroline's pristine white gown, Grae gracing those same stairs, beaming with excitement, in the twin of that structured white evening dress.

I turned now to that stairway. The flamboyant, curved railing had withered under the intense inferno, and parts of the stairs were missing. I climbed the frail steps, ignoring the obvious dangers of such an activity. I climbed heedlessly as my body quaked in torment. Thankfully, the entire west wing had been destroyed in the fire. Every last hint of Rebecca had been consumed. Her brushes, gowns, frocks, and even the smell of azaleas had been purged. Perhaps, in that way, the fire had been a saving grace. Although the west wing had been demolished, the memories had not. I could hear the roar of the sea, the laughter of the guests, and the gossiping of the servants, my Manderley. I continued on regardless, revisiting the dark corners of my past; my father on his death bed, Mrs. Danvers haunting the corridors, Grae locked tight within her room after an argument. I traveled to the east wing in a trance. It had suffered the same fate as the rest of Manderley, burnt beyond recognition. I strayed further into the maze of blackened wood and stone, lost in thought all the while.

I found myself once again on the terrace. The twisted ebony branches of the chestnut tree the only defining feature of the now barren yard. Everything had been consumed. Not a single rose petal was left black and withered. No trace of Manderley's glory could be discerned from the wreckage, but that did not stop my mind from its incessant wanderings through my history. Yet more of the past came to me; Grae and I having tea beneath the majestic chestnut, Jasper frolicking across the lawn, and fireworks after an evening of merrymaking, my Manderley. Once more I sat under the relative shelter of the chestnut tree. I let the smell of burnt wood, stone, and plaster fill my nose. I sat and reminisced about the past and about the future, about Grae, and even Rebecca. I thought of Frank, Jasper, Beatrice and Giles, dimwitted Ben, Mrs. Danvers, Frith, and all the others. My mind was adrift in the torrent of memories and emotions. I felt hot tears course down my cheeks. I felt them trace little tracks through the soot covering my face. I wept for all that was lost. I wept for Manderley, my Manderley. In a daze my mind continued, heedless of the tears coursing down my dirty cheeks. All around me I saw the past come to life with zeal. The servants wandering about the halls, Frank in the office, Jasper, the old chap, asleep by Rebecca—no, Grae, Danvers going about her business, myself sitting in the library with the paper, my Manderley. I watched it all in a detached broken hearted way.

I felt slim arms wrap around me, holding me with such tenderness that I sobbed even harder. I looked into her captivating eyes and felt another pang of loss. That young naïve look that I had so adored had parted forever, and I felt that I was the cause. How could I not have been? I tore every last shred of her sheltered existence from her when I brought her to my world, brought her to Rebecca's world. But by some miracle she loves me still, and I cling to that love. That love is my only life line in the turmoil that has been left in the wake of the destruction of my Manderley. Grae was with me. She would be what Rebecca never was: a wife. She would always be with me, Grae my beloved. She would be my Manderley.


End file.
